


beautiful

by sohmins



Category: K.A.R.D (Band)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohmins/pseuds/sohmins
Summary: Taehyung can’t help himself. When someone is that beautiful . . . well, such beauty deserves to transcend this lifetime.





	beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> warning: disturbing content ahead

Her hair is brown, and her eyes are closed.

 

Taehyung’s fingers ghost over her closed eyelids, observing her features. She looks sweet, lovely; minimal makeup, a light, natural blush on her cheeks, pale pink lips. Her eyes are big; he knows this because at one point, they were open, bright.

 

As the years pass, her eyes would dull. Her cheeks would lose that blush. Her lips would become thin, losing their youthful plumpness and color. Her hair, voluminous and silky, would become coarse and brittle.

 

She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves to be remembered for her current beauty, not the ugly husk of her former self into which age will transform her.

 

Taehyung pats her hair into place, adjusting the bangs so they frame her face. She would have thanked him, if she could. Then he takes out his knife—a small, sharp blade.

 

She deserves to be immortalized, the memory of her preserved at her best.

 

He takes her hand gently, so as not to disturb her. She wouldn’t wake up either way, but Taehyung prefers to be courteous. Flipping her arm so the crook of her elbow is visible, he traces the visible blood vessels. He glances at her face, peaceful in her unconscious state, and then he slits the brachial artery with the precision of one who has done this many times before.

 

The white bed is slowly painted a bright, vivid red, the sheets soaking up the blood as it spilled from her elbow.

 

Jump two minutes—the drug in her system isn’t what’s keeping her unconscious.

 

Jump seven minutes—doctors would struggle to save her in their way.

 

Jump fifteen minutes—she is pale, unnaturally so. But she is beautiful, and she will always be beautiful.

 

Taehyung smiles as he cleans his knife.

 

—

 

_The room is a mess when Hongbin returns from the grocery store. The grocery bag falls from his grasp as his eyes fall on the bed._

 

_“Y-Youngji?”_

 

_It’s not her. It can’t be her._

 

_But it is so clearly her, even though the blood red of the bed makes the scene seem like a dream—a nightmare, really. He walks slowly, staggering, eyes unable to stop staring even as his brain refuses to process._

 

_Youngji is dead._

 

_But she might as well have been alive. Her face, though unnaturally pale, is still as it was when she was living. Her cheeks have lost their color, but the pale skin gives her a doll-like quality._

 

_She is beautiful._

 

_Hongbin screams._

 

——

 

Her hair is brown, and her eyes are closed.

 

She is the most beautiful one that Taehyung has seen so far.

 

The bright lights of the restroom make some lighter highlights visible in her light brown hair. Her face is structured: high cheekbones, a defined jawline, arched eyebrows. Her eyes, when open, are wide, captivating.

 

She is a true beauty, one that doesn’t deserve to deteriorate with age—or with her self-destructive habits.

 

Taehyung had found her at the bar. Drinking accelerates the aging process; causes premature wrinkles, dehydration, loss of collagen . . . so many detrimental effects, but she insisted on the act anyway. She deserves more than what she is doing to herself, and Taehyung knows that she would be thankful if she was aware.

 

He doesn’t need a thanks. He enjoys doing this, would gladly help someone in such a situation.

 

He lifts her arm with one hand; takes out his knife with the other; the cut is clean and precise, as always.

 

Jump three minutes—the alcohol isn’t the only thing slowing her heart rate.

 

Jump eight minutes—her breathing is too faint to be noticeable.

 

Jump nine minutes—she’ll never have a chance to destroy herself again.

 

Taehyung leaves her on the floor of the restroom stall, her arm placed over the toilet to avoid a mess. She looks like she’s asleep, he thinks as he closes the stall door.

 

Everyone else in the restroom is too drunk to notice that he doesn’t belong there.

 

—

 

_Matthew is only slightly anxious when Somin doesn’t return from the bathroom even after fifteen minutes. It’s once a little over half an hour passes that he becomes genuinely worried._

 

_Even after he searches the whole bar, she’s nowhere to be found, so he calls over Jisun._

 

_“Hey, can you check on Somin? She left to use the restroom a while ago . . .”_

 

_Jisun frowns at him. “Maybe she just wants to avoid you? You did have a nasty fight.”_

 

_“I know, but . . .” Matthew sighs. “Can you check? Just—I don’t know. She had a lot to drink, and she usually doesn’t drink at all.”_

 

_Jisun stares at him for a few more seconds, but then her eyes soften. “Sure, let me get another bartender to cover for me.”_

 

_Matthew waits in the hall a distance away from the women’s restroom out of respect. But his head jerks toward the door when he hears a scream, and a few seconds later someone is barreling out of the restroom, tripping in her hurry. Jisun nearly knocks Matthew over—he has to hold her steady, because it’s evident that she’s barely able to support herself._

 

_“Jisun? What’s wrong? What happened?”_

 

_Jisun’s voice is shaky. “Somin—I th-think she—an ambulance. Call an ambulance, the police, fuck—” She suddenly shoves Matthew away, and he stumbles back. “This is your fault! How could you—you fucking asshole—she loved you! She loved you so much, and now she did this . . . oh my god . . .”_

 

_She falls to the floor, crying, as Matthew races to the restroom, phone in hand._

 

_There’s a resounding crack as his phone slips from his fingers and onto the tile flooring._

 

_Soon a crowd gathers, and the sound of sirens grows louder._

 

——

 

Her hair is blonde, and her eyes are open.

 

She is attractive in an unconventional way, but she still catches Taehyung’s eye. Her eyes are wide; her gaze is sharp, her expression cold. But he caught her smiling earlier that night, and though it was brief, her whole face had seemed different.

 

He could tell that smile had been fake. But if her face brightens up with just a fake smile . . . he can only imagine how beautiful she would be if she were to smile for real.

 

So Taehyung follows her as she leaves the bar alone, her head focused on the ground in front of her and her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. He follows a distance behind her, to avoid scaring her. He only wants to help. She walks for a long time, staring at nothing, at everything, Taehyung doesn’t know. He only stares at her.

 

They approach a bridge, empty at the hour. Taehyung doesn’t have a chance to check his phone, though, because one second she’s at the railing, and the next second she’s climbing over it.

 

Taehyung’s brow furrows in confusion. This has never been a case before.

 

He keeps walking, and soon he’s close enough to see the rise and fall of her shoulders. He stops a few meters away, but he can tell she doesn’t see him; she doesn’t turn; instead, she takes a final deep breath and leans forward.

 

Taehyung shouts out before he can stop himself—“Hey! Wait!”

 

The girl freezes; when she turns to him, her eyes are wider than normal, like a deer in headlights, her hair whipping around her face with the wind.

 

He walks toward her slowly, keeping an eye on her movements. But she’s standing frozen in her spot, the shock of being caught taking away her motivation.

 

When she doesn’t say anything even as he comes to a stop, he pointedly looks at the water below. It’s practically black in the night, and Taehyung shudders at what that exposure would do to a human. The human body was never meant to handle such conditions.

 

“The water would be cold,” Taehyung says. She stares at him blankly. A few seconds pass, the only sound being the wind and the waves below. “It doesn’t have to end this  way.” She nearly protests, but something about the way he’s talking keeps her from interrupting. “You deserve better.” Her breathing falters, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders wavering. “I could help, you know.”

 

She blinks a few times, and then glances back toward the water. Taehyung prepares to run, tries to calculate just how quickly he could grab her because _she cannot be ruined like this_ —when she leans back. Her grip on the railing tightens. Her movements are slow, but a minute later and she’s back on the sidewalk; safe.

 

Taehyung smiles at her, relieved, and extends his hand to help her down from the slight step. She looks at it strangely, but hesitantly takes it nonetheless, and Taehyung doesn’t let go even when they keep walking. He doesn’t know where they’re going, and he is sure that she doesn’t know either, but she doesn’t complain, and he doesn’t particularly care.

 

He watches her as they walk. “You’re really pretty,” he says—and she is, honestly. But she seems to be unfamiliar with such compliments, and she ducks her head. “No, really.” He leans down to meet her eyes, wanting to keep looking at her face, and then she smiles at him.

 

When she smiles, her eyes scrunch up, disappearing into lines; her cheeks rise up, making her look much younger than she probably is. This dichotomy between the cold and the sweet, between the two sides of her—she is unique, and Taehyung knows she deserves more than what time will do to her—what _she_ will do to herself.

 

Taehyung smiles wider. She really is beautiful, uniquely so.

 

She would thank him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written quite a while ago (before both of my other works). I happened to be thinking about motives for serial killers when I thought, what if they kill because they think they're helping—oh! Because they want beautiful people never to have the experience of growing old and ugly? And thus, this was born. I . . . *sigh* I don't know how else to explain this mess. But if you got through it, thank you!


End file.
